


The Square Root of Four

by glitterburn (orphan_account)



Series: Counting Backwards [4]
Category: Super Junior, Super Junior M
Genre: Crossdressing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-13
Updated: 2011-10-13
Packaged: 2017-10-24 14:18:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/264449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/glitterburn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The secret’s out, everything’s broken, but love is worth fighting for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Square Root of Four

_You cheated on me. You fucking bitch._

Sungmin stares at Hyukjae, unable to make sense of what he’s just heard. He is Sungmin, not Jade, so how can he have cheated? He is male, not female, so how can he be a bitch?

“I didn’t cheat on you.”

“Uh,” says Donghae, looking weary, shaking his head, “you did. Unless Siwon was lying just now. Which he might have done, but I don’t know why, because it’s a bad thing to tell a lie, and...” He stops, clearly confused by his own rhetoric. “And,” he says again, but doesn’t continue.

Into the silence, Hyukjae says, “Shut up.”

Donghae coughs. “Wasn’t saying anything.”

“Just shut up.” Hyukjae hasn’t taken his gaze from Sungmin. The expression in his eyes intensifies, bores into Sungmin like a brand burning through layers of flesh. “Was it worth it?”

Sungmin has no idea what he means. Sex with Siwon, the bet, the threesome with Donghae, the creation of Jade, all of it, none of it? He opens his mouth, slicks his lower lip with his tongue. Gives an honest answer. “Yes.”

Hyukjae reels back like he’s been punched in the face.

Donghae grabs for him, misses, takes a step closer and tries again, offering support. Hyukjae pulls free, shoves at him with an incoherent sound. “Dude,” Donghae says, both hands up in surrender. The gesture seems to irritate Hyukjae even more. He swings about, strides towards Sungmin, and there’s fury in his eyes, fury and desperation and a terrible confusion.

“Wait,” says Siwon, one hand out as if he can stop the tide. As if he wants to intervene. As if he thinks Hyukjae will hurt Sungmin.

What a joke.

If he were Jade right now, he’d shrink back against Siwon and let the pair of them fight. That would be easier. He wouldn’t have to make a decision then. Winner takes all, and to hell with his emotions. He can adapt, after all. He’s adapted his whole life, his whole career. He can be anything anyone wants him to be, and he can do it so well he doesn’t always know where his own truth lies.

Hyukjae ignores Siwon’s warning stance. He comes close enough to touch, walks right into Sungmin’s personal space. Sungmin refuses to give ground. He lifts his chin and knows it looks like an arrogant gesture. He doesn’t mean it like that. It’s a defensive thing, but Hyukjae has never understood the need for defences, and Sungmin has never explained it to him, and that’s the reason—one of the reasons—why they’re in this mess.

They gaze at each other, and it’s like a thread of glass, spinning smaller and finer with each passing second, and it’s impossible to believe it can go on, impossible that it won’t shatter, but Sungmin keeps hoping, praying, and the silence stretches out, pulses beneath its own weight.

Hyukjae looks away first. Shakes his head. “I can’t,” he says, and it’s a broken sound, an awful sound. “I just can’t.”

The sense of failure returns. Sungmin crosses his arms over his chest. There’s a weird feeling in his head, as if a wave has crashed on the shore and is slowly sucking back out to sea. “What?” he asks, astonished at how normal his voice sounds, how it doesn’t seem to show the million cracks splintering him apart. “What can’t you do?”

Hyukjae turns away, puts a hand to his face. He’s still shaking his head. “I can’t look at you. I can’t look at _you_.”

Ryeowook tries to take charge. Sometimes, in moments of high tension or low amusement, he can be extraordinarily bossy. “You should talk about this,” he says—instructs, really—and points a finger from one to the other. “Both of you. Together, I mean. Not to other people.” His expression makes it clear that Hyukjae spent most of the night spilling their secrets to half of the group, or maybe it was Donghae who narrated the whole thing—not that it really matters now.

“He doesn’t like talking.” Hyukjae still won’t look at Sungmin. “He never wants to talk to me.”

“I do now.” The words come out small and pathetic and far too late.

Hyukjae laughs, a harsh bark of sound. “Go fuck yourself. You can probably do that, too, right? You can do everything else so fucking perfectly.” Bitterness wells in his voice. Disappointment slashes through in emphasis. “Or—or just go fuck Siwon again.”

“Hey.” Siwon reaches past Sungmin and goes to shove at Hyukjae’s shoulder. He sounds riled, his temper peaking. “Don’t say that. Sungmin came here to tell you something. He came here—”

Sungmin realises where this is going. He tries to stop it, catches at Siwon’s elbow, pulls his arm down. Their hands slide together, lover-like. “No.”

But Siwon isn’t finished. He wants to be heard, even if what he has to say is nonsensical. “Listen to him, Hyukjae! He came here to tell you that he loves you!”

More silence. Sungmin doesn’t dare look at anyone else. His curiosity skitters, and he wonders what they all think of him and how this latest pronouncement fits with what they’ve heard overnight. Maybe he shouldn’t worry. Maybe he shouldn’t care what they think, but he does, because what they think affects what Hyukjae thinks. Hyukjae is like a sponge; he absorbs stupid opinions and believes untruths and yet he’s never tainted by any of it. He was always so honest until this happened, always true, like a compass pointing north, but this has pulled north towards a false pole, and if your compass is faulty, it has consequences for the whole group.

Sungmin draws in a breath. He should never have started this, but having started it, he has to finish it. “I love you,” he says.

Now Hyukjae looks at him again, eyes too bright. “Fuck you. Fuck you both.” He’s not talking to Siwon. It’s Jade he’s addressing, Sungmin and Jade, the distinction once again divided and individual. Hyukjae throws a miserable, ferocious look at him—at them—then goes to his room and slams the door.

“Wow,” says Jongwoon after an endless moment. “Cheap fucking drama.”

“Shut up.” Ryeowook sounds angry. “Min—”

“Yes,” says Sungmin, dragged along by the undertow. “I know. I’ll talk to him.”

*

He doesn’t knock. Sungmin thinks it’s too late for warnings. They know each other too well for that. Besides, if he knocked, Hyukjae might not answer, and that would be even worse. So he just walks on in and closes the door behind him. Maybe he should be casual about it and lean against the door, but he doesn’t. He can’t, because he’s still holding the bag full of Jade’s clothes and accessories, and so he ventures into Hyukjae’s room and stands there, clutching the rope handles and feeling the braid imprint itself onto his palms.

Hyukjae is standing by the window. He’s staring at the glass, not looking through it but at it, or maybe he’s looking at his reflection, insubstantial thing that it is. Sungmin stands and waits. Pressure builds up behind his forehead, words and emotions hammering to be let out, but Hyukjae is still staring at nothing, not even acknowledging his presence. Sungmin needs to speak first, he needs to have the advantage here in case this all goes wrong, even more wrong than it is already, but he can’t think of anything to say. At least nothing rational, anyway.

He drops the bag. It lands on the floor with a crumpling thud.

Hyukjae turns. Stares at the bag. He doesn’t look at Sungmin.

“We should talk,” Sungmin says. His head is drained of emotion to leave a thin pulse of anxiety amidst a wasteland. His voice seems to echo.

Now Hyukjae looks at him, a brief stab of a glance. “Why? Because Ryeowook said we should?” He’s almost sneering, but that was never Hyukjae’s style. His anger is too honest for sarcasm. He flicks a hand. “Aren’t you sick of other people telling you what to do, how to dress? God. I mean, shit. You’re not even wearing your own clothes.”

Sungmin looks down. He’s wearing Siwon’s clothes, too wide for him, too long. Strange how he’d forgotten. He pulls at the combat trousers. “I wasn’t coming back here dressed as her.”

“Jade.” The name hangs between them, and Sungmin thinks again what a bad choice it was. Jade is the stone of virtue. There was nothing virtuous about his creation of her. His mind stutters, his attention snapping back to what Hyukjae is saying.

“When did you give her a name?” Hyukjae looks wounded. “Did she always have a name and you never told me? Why didn’t you tell me? I always thought—I thought she was you. You were her. I thought that was the point. I didn’t want some girl. I can get a girl. The point was—it was...” Confusion twists his expression and he falls silent.

“What was the point?” Sungmin asks, very quietly.

Hyukjae half turns, runs his hands over his face. “I don’t know. It only made sense when it was happening. Date night made _sense_ , and now I don’t know what’s wrong, what’s right, what’s normal, what’s...” He breaks off. “I just don’t know.”

Sungmin takes a step closer. Usually under these circumstances he’d take Hyukjae’s hand. As himself, as Jade, he could do that and it’d be a natural gesture, but now even the simplest touch is loaded with meaning and he can’t bear to complicate matters further. He folds his arms across his chest, tucks his hands beneath his armpits. _Defensive again_ , the most detached part of his mind tells him. He pulls his hands free, swings his arms. Catches sight of himself in the wardrobe mirror. He looks awkward. He stares at his reflection, losing himself, recognition difficult, then he glances away.

Hyukjae’s hands are over his mouth, like he’s trying to stuff words back inside, but then his hands wrench apart and he flings them outwards as if he’s catching his balance, as if he’s dancing. “And Siwon,” he says, voice rising to a shout. “Siwon! Of all of them, why did it have to be him? I could have understood Donghae. That would’ve been okay. No, not okay, but it’d have been easier. But Siwon. No.”

“There’s no comparison.” It comes out as little more than a whisper.

“No, there’s not.” Hyukjae’s brief burst of anger shrivels. He curls inwards, arms crossing around his waist as he rocks on his toes. “I can’t compete with him.”

Sungmin blinks at the misunderstanding. “Is that what you think?”

“Why not? He’s rich. He’s perfect. He’s kind.” Hyukjae twists, leading with his shoulder, a dismissive flick from one side to the other. “He wants you.”

Nausea blooms from tension. Sungmin swallows, his throat dry and clicking. He tries to ignore the last thing Hyukjae said by protesting every other point. “I don’t need money. You’re kind. I think you’re perfect.”

Silence. It stretches, becomes painful. Sungmin doesn’t want to address the last point, but he can’t ignore it, either. His voice scratches him raw. “But you don’t want me, do you? Even after all this. Everything I went through.”

Hyukjae looks up, stares in disbelief. “Everything _you_ went through?” His temper flares. “What about me, what I went through? My best friend telling me he loves me. Fuck, how was I supposed to react to that? And, God, I thought it’d be easier if we could joke about it, laugh about it. Then you wouldn’t feel so rejected, and I—I wouldn’t feel so guilty.” He stops, grabs at a breath. His eyes glisten. His mouth trembles, but he continues, “Because it’s true. If you were a girl I think I’d love you. No, I know I’d love you. Because I did fall in love with you. With her. With you. With Jade.”

He’s crying now, and it’s not pretty, all tears and snot and anger and embarrassment. He wipes at his face with such force it’s like he wants to punch some sense into himself, and he makes a strangled sort of noise, half sob and half exclamation. He blunders close and seizes Sungmin, gripping tight onto his upper arm. It’s the same place he grabbed last night. It hurts.

Sungmin doesn’t think. This time there’s no Siwon to play the hero. This time Sungmin responds to pain on instinct. He grabs Hyukjae’s shoulder, sharp-turns into his body, and flips him.

Hyukjae doesn’t even have time to draw breath before he’s thrown. He crashes to the floor at the foot of the bed. He sprawls, stunned, and knocks over the bag containing Jade’s clothes. Her wig falls out, her long, glossy black hair spidering across the floor. Hyukjae makes a sound almost of disgust, and they both look at the wig, then stare at each other in strained silence.

Sungmin crouches, strokes the wig back into the bag then stands it upright, lines it up with the floorboards. Neat, tidy; his hands shaking as he conceals the evidence of his other self. He rises to his feet. Hyukjae is still on the floor, staring up at him.

There’s a tentative knock at the door, then a louder, more solid thud.

“Yes,” says Sungmin, even though this isn’t his room.

The door opens. Siwon and Donghae peer in.

“Are you—” Siwon pauses, looks at Hyukjae on the floor; looks back up at Sungmin, “okay?”

“Yes,” Sungmin says again.

Donghae stares. “Uh, bro,” he addresses Hyukjae, “dude, you alright?”

Hyukjae doesn’t answer.

“We’re gonna—” Donghae starts, and Siwon finishes the sentence for him in a rush: “take everyone out.”

“For lunch,” Donghae adds.

“Shopping,” Siwon says at the same time.

They look at each other. It would be funny at any other time.

“So!” Siwon forces a bright, cheery smile. “We’re—”

“Going now.” Donghae grabs hold of Siwon and hauls him away. The door closes with a soft click.

Sungmin exhales. He offers his hand to Hyukjae, who ignores it. They remain frozen, quiet, until they hear the muted sound of conversation in the corridor, followed by the slam of the front door.

“What you did,” Hyukjae says into the hush, “it changed everything. It made it better and worse at the same time. It hurt, Min, it really fucking hurt. It still hurts, because you wouldn’t talk about it and I needed to talk, and I don’t understand any of it, not really.”

Sungmin bows his head. _Oh, Hyukkie_ , he wants to say, but the words are stuck in his throat and tears blister his eyes. It would be better if he could cry; they could cling to one another the way they used to when one of them was feeling sad, way back before this all happened; they could hug and cry together and everything would be all right.

But he can’t cry. Someone needs to be strong about this, someone needs to guide this discussion, but he has no idea how to control it; it’s just spinning past him and he’s standing there watching it all go to shit.

“I don’t understand,” Hyukjae says again. He pulls himself up and sits on the end of the bed, his hands bunched into the patterned duvet cover. He’s still and quiet for a moment, his head low, but Sungmin knows him, can read his mood better than he knows his own responses, and he sees it, the anger coiling up, tightening inside Hyukjae’s body until it explodes out in a lash of rage.

“ _I don’t understand!_ ”

Hyukjae kicks out. It’s just a reflex, the way he thumps his fists down on the mattress at the same time, but his feet catch against the bag, and the glossy paper gashes open with an awful tearing sound, and Jade’s clothes come tumbling out.

Sungmin backs away from them.

“No.” Hyukjae jumps up, a ricochet of his anger. “Show me,” he says. “Show me how you do it.”

“I don’t—” Sungmin retreats further, gaze not on Hyukjae but on the scatter of Jade’s belongings. He doesn’t want to become her. Not now, not while they’re trying to fix things. She doesn’t belong here.

Hyukjae snatches up a handful of clothes, thrusts them out. “I want to see her.”

Sungmin shakes his head once. “No.” His voice breaks. The tears he’s been holding back flood his eyes, spill down his cheeks. He curls his hands to his chest and makes himself small and insignificant.

“I need to see her.” Hyukjae picks up the clothes, upends the bag on the bed. He holds up Jade’s underwear. “Let me see her!”

It’s almost impossible for Sungmin to deny a request, especially when Hyukjae makes it. He doesn’t know if this makes him weak or generous. He sniffs, eyes stinging, and pulls at his belt. Off come Siwon’s trousers and the shorts he borrowed. Sungmin plucks Jade’s panties from Hyukjae’s steady fingers. He puts them on, soft-raspy lace against his denuded flesh. Siwon’s t-shirt now. He drops it onto the floor. Reaches out for the next item of Jade’s clothing.

Hyukjae is holding her blouse. Sungmin shakes his head. The blouse is swapped for the rose-patterned skirt. He steps into it, fastens the zip, adjusts the fall of the hem, smoothing out the fabric. His tears have gone. He keeps on breathing. Usually when he dresses as Jade he’s excited, full of anticipation. She wants to look her best for her boyfriend; he wants to look perfect for his own satisfaction. Now he just feels empty, but still he can’t stop himself from wanting to look good.

Now he puts on the blouse. He brings the ruching down, judging by wiggles of his shoulders how much skin to show at the neckline. He tugs at the front of the blouse, puffing it out to give the illusion of feminine curves.

He looks up. Mostly he feels awkward, but there’s a vague sense of humiliation, too. Dressing up in women’s clothing has always been viewed as a joke before. He took it and made it serious, too serious, and now it feels like it’s becoming a joke again, and he’s the punchline.

Hyukjae is staring at him. Usually Sungmin can read Hyukjae, but not now. Hyukjae is blank, just staring.

“The hair,” Hyukjae says. He reaches back without looking, gropes across the bed and pulls the wig up by a few strands. He tosses it across the room.

Sungmin wants to scold him for handling it so carelessly, but that would be hypocritical. Hands trembling, he settles the wig over his head, combs at the wavy tresses, flicks at the fringe. It doesn’t sit well, and he adjusts it again. He can’t see himself in the mirror. He must look ridiculous.

Hyukjae’s face crumples. He turns, stirs through the few remaining items on the bed. Jade’s choker, her shoes, her purse. Hyukjae opens the purse and shakes out its contents. Phone. Condoms. Keys. Money. Lipstick. Perfume. Lube. Hyukjae makes a keening sound, shoves the condoms and bubble packs of lube aside. The keys tumble off the bed and clatter onto the floor. He grabs the lipstick, jerks off the top and twists the base. The pale, shimmery pink column thrusts up.

“Here,” he says, his voice strange. “Don’t forget this.” He crosses the room, grabs Sungmin’s chin in one hand, and slashes the lipstick across his mouth.

Sungmin gasps. The make-up scribbles across his lips, jabs at his teeth. He tries to take the lipstick, but Hyukjae hurls it away.

They stare at each other. Hyukjae loosens his grip on Sungmin’s chin, then lets go. “You’re still you,” he says, and he sounds bewildered, then angry again. “You’re still you. Look!” He pulls Sungmin to stand in front of the wardrobe mirror. “Look at yourself. Go on, look!”

The reflection shows a failure. Sungmin stares at the glass, recognises himself, a man who’s transgressed boundaries only to build them higher and wider behind him. He stares, lifts his chin, angles his head, and there’s Jade. Without conscious thought he’s summoned her, and here she is, beautiful and fierce despite the crooked lipstick and disordered hair.

Hyukjae’s reflection is stunned, shattered. “How do you do that? Why?”

“Because I love you,” Jade says, and Sungmin adds, “Because this was the only way I could have you.”

“No.” Hyukjae looks wild. “I mean, yes. But not any more. Don’t you see?”

Jade holds his gaze. She wavers, crumbles, shifting back to Sungmin.

“Min.” Hyukjae turns him around, hands warm on his bare shoulders. “Sungmin. Not her.” Hyukjae leans forward and kisses him, hard and unexpected, and he doesn’t know how to respond, who he should be, so he just lets Hyukjae kiss him.

“Fuck. I mean—fuck.” Hyukjae pulls back, wipes his thumb over Sungmin’s saliva-slicked mouth. Wipes off the scrawl of lipstick. “Minnie. Please.” He’s shaking. He strokes his hands through Jade’s hair, then lifts off the wig and drops it onto the bed.

Sungmin makes a soft noise. He feels—he feels... He doesn’t know, can’t put a name to it out of fear that he’ll be wrong again, so he just waits, says nothing, does nothing, and waits, emotion rolling and rolling inside him.

Hyukjae looks down, curls his fingers into the neckline of the blouse. “I love you,” he says, quiet and hesitant. He lifts his head, meets Sungmin’s gaze, and now he’s determined. “I love you,” he says again, louder, and he pulls at the blouse, yanking at it. “I love you, I love you,” he says, over and over, Jade’s clothes falling, scattering, until Sungmin stands naked, stripped of every defence.

Hyukjae stares. Comes closer. Wraps Sungmin in his arms. “I love _you_.”

“Hyukjae.” Sungmin feels broken. It’s a strange sensation. Oddly, it almost feels good. He slips out of Hyukjae’s embrace and sinks to the floor.

“You said you trusted me. That I was honest enough for us both.” Hyukjae kneels in front of him, takes his hands and holds tight. “That’s not true. It was never true. How can I be honest when I was lying all this time?”

“You’re not the liar.” Sungmin lifts his hands away and curls up, knees to his chest. He stares at the straight lines of the floorboards. “What I did was wrong. I knew I could manipulate you. I’m selfish. I wanted you any way I could have you. You seemed to like _her_ so much, I thought...” He pauses, shakes his head. “I just wanted you. I wanted you to want me. I thought she would help. I didn’t invent Jade for you. She was for me. So I could get what I wanted.”

Hyukjae is quiet for a moment, then he says, “I know.”

Sungmin looks at him.

“I’m not that stupid. I knew it wasn’t all for my benefit.” Hyukjae wipes his face with the back of his hand. “For a long time I pretended it was. It helped, you know? Made it less weird. Easier to think of you and her as separate.”

“We were separate.” Sungmin feels like he’s dismantling himself piece by piece. Things that seemed instinctive are now held up for review. “Jade and I were separate. We had to be, in case you didn’t want her. So I could pretend it didn’t matter.”

Hyukjae exhales and sits sideways, then shuffles back so he’s beside Sungmin. He draws up his knees, too, until they’re mirroring one another. Hyukjae rests his forearms on his knees and leans his head against them, looking at Sungmin. “The time with Donghae. You were afraid afterwards.”

Sungmin nods.

“Because he did what you wanted to do. Because,” Hyukjae corrects himself, feeling his way into coherency, “you made him do to me what you wanted to do. Because...”

“He made things easier.” Sungmin tries a smile. It feels like forever since he’s smiled, and it comes out frozen, a failure. “I even used him against you. What kind of person am I?”

“You didn’t use him. You didn’t use me.” Hyukjae rocks back and forth, unbends from his position. “I guess we both wanted to know what it was like.”

Sungmin considers it. “Maybe.”

Hyukjae shifts closer. Puts his head on Sungmin’s shoulder. He’s so warm, and his hair tickles Sungmin’s face as he nestles closer still. “I want you, Min. I want you, and it scares the shit out of me.”

Sungmin’s heart drops into freefall. The emotion that was building inside him draws back like a wave, gathering itself. “No one said it’d be easy.”

“I like things being easy,” Hyukjae murmurs. “I like things to be straightforward. You’ve always been the most complicated thing in my life, and that was okay because I always thought I knew you, until you said you loved me.” He stirs against Sungmin’s shoulder. “And then it freaked me out because what if I loved you, too, and I never even knew it? That wasn’t supposed to happen. But it did.”

Sungmin unknots one arm. Puts it around Hyukjae. It feels so easy. “You shouldn’t think too much.”

Hyukjae snorts. “Neither should you. Especially you. You come up with all this complicated shit.”

A laugh shakes its way free. “And I thought I was making it easy.”

They sit together, breathing each other in, bridges mending in silence. Then Sungmin shivers, and Hyukjae jerks upright. “You’re naked,” he says, and he sounds startled, like he’s only just noticed. “Here. Get warm.” He twists around and drags the duvet off the bed, sending the remainder of Jade’s things onto the floor. They ignore the scatter and thud.

Sungmin lets Hyukjae fold the duvet around him, then he wriggles a hand free and takes hold of Hyukjae’s beer-stained t-shirt. “Lie down with me.”

They lie on the floor and cuddle, Sungmin inside the quilt, Hyukjae outside. It’s not right, so Sungmin unfurls the duvet and tucks it around Hyukjae, brings him in closer. They rest together. It feels safe. It’s not certain, nothing’s certain, but right now, this feels like sanctuary.

“You’re amazing,” Hyukjae says.

Sungmin snuffles. “I’m a manipulative bitch.”

“And I’m a greedy bastard.” Hyukjae turns around in the cocoon of the duvet, repositioning them until Sungmin’s half on top of him, looking down. Hyukjae smiles, but there’s still a lingering echo of distant, tremulous fear behind his eyes. “I’m amazing, too, right?”

“Yes.” Sungmin strokes Hyukjae’s face, cups a palm to his cheek. Emotion overflows him. He can barely speak. “God, yes, you are. So very amazing.”

“I don’t want to see Jade again.” Hyukjae looks very serious. “But I want to try— I just want you. And I might fuck up. I might really get it wrong. But I want us to talk about it. I want us to try.” He puts his hand over Sungmin’s, takes a deep breath. His expression is full of hope. “Can we, Min? Can we try?”

Sungmin smiles at last, a real, true smile, a natural smile. An honest smile. “Yes,” he says, and in his heart it’s like the sun coming out.


End file.
